Burned
by mashimoshi
Summary: My take as to what happened when the garrison was set on fire during S3E10. Aramis-whump!
1. Chapter 1: Into the Fire

**A new story! Wow, I'm basically a writing machine now, lol :D! I'm excited for this one, actually, and have a lot of ideas. I hope you enjoy. Make sure to read and review.**

 **-M**

* * *

"Aramis, don't!" Porthos yelled, grasping for his best friend's wrist tightly, afraid to let go. "I can't lose both you and d'Artagnan on the same day." His gut seemed to seize up at those words. "Please, Aramis! Don't!"

"I have to, Porthos," replied Aramis, turning his head to look at the burning garrison. The fire's flames were reflected in his tear-filled eyes. "There can still be men in there!" He coughed, feeling the smoke practically invading his lungs. Looking back at Porthos, he smiled, his teeth shining brightly against his ash covered face. "You won't lose me today, my friend," he finally said, pulling Porthos' forehead against his own. "I promise."

With those words, he ran off into the fire, the flames practically engulfing him.

When realizing what just happened, Porthos fell to his knees, letting the tears freely fall down his face. They stained his dirty cheeks, and fell silently onto the ground, seeping into the dirt. The big man suddenly felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Athos standing above him, his eyes full of sadness … and fear.

"He's not gonna make it out, is he?" Porthos asked, staring at the blazing fire before him. The tears would not stop falling.

"There are men that need you," Porthos," said Athos, helping him up. "Come."Porthos obeyed immediately, quickly wiping the tears away with his sleeve. He and Athos began searching for and tending to men.

In a couple of minutes, d'Artagnan - with Constance in his arms - walked out of the fire, coughing and gasping. It took all of Porthos' strength not to embrace him in a huge bear hug. Instead, he thanked God that they were both alive.

Once placing Constance down and making sure that she was breathing, d'Artagnan stood up and looked around. "Where's Aramis?" he asked, feeling worry seep into his heart.

"He … umm … he went in there … To try and save more men," Porthos replied, his voice slightly trembling.

D'Artagnan's face dropped. "No," he whispered, looking out into the fire, the fire that Aramis was frantically searching in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Porthos drop his head and take a deep breath.

Athos just had this unexplainable expression on his face.

All three of them knew that it wasn't likely for Aramis to return…

XxXxX

Aramis looked and looked for some kind of movement within this raging fire. As everything around him burned, he could feel his entire body begin to ache. He barely noticed the large piece of hot wood flying towards him…

… But he fell on his knees just in time, the heat exhaustion taking its toll on him.

He covered his mouth as he began to cough, still forcing himself to keep on searching.

Soon enough, his coughing became a struggle to breath, and Aramis couldn't stop himself from falling further on the ground. He slowly began to crawl back to the direction he came from, keeping his eyes closed and trusting whatever instinct he had left in him. He didn't even know if they were right or not.

He wiped some sweat off his forehead, beginning to see torch lights and hear someone calling his name.

But suddenly, he felt agony spread through his entire side. It traveled from his abdomen, straight to his chest. He cried out, but still made himself keep on going.

Finally, he saw someone.

Porthos.

And with that, Aramis collapsed, feeling nothing but darkness surrounding him.

XxXxX

Porthos turned around when he heard a familiar scream. He gasped when he saw Aramis, lying on the ground, the fire creeping up around him. "Aramis!" he yelled, running over to the man's limp body. "Athos, d'Artagnan, I found him!"

He was quick to pull Aramis out of the fire, gathering him into his arms and picking him up. "Oh, God, Aramis, you're alive," he cried, hugging the other man tightly. The motion elicited a stifled scream from Aramis; guilt poured over Porthos. He looked down at him, seeing the huge burn on his waist. Without wasting another second, he yelled, "Athos! He's hurt! We need a medic!"

The two other Musketeers ran over to him, their eyes wide when they saw Aramis.

"D'Artagnan, get the physician," said Athos, kneeling down beside Porthos. He looked up at him, and continued, "You and I will get him out of the fire. He doesn't need anymore flames in his system."

Porthos nodded and easily picked Aramis up, carrying his unconscious burden away from the fire. He gently laid him down near Constance, who was sitting there and watching everything, sobbing.

She whimpered when Aramis groaned and curled into himself the minute his body hit the ground, beginning to tremble. "Grimaud did this to him," she said, reaching for Aramis' hand. "He did it. He caused him so much pain."

"Don't worry, Constance," Porthos quickly assured her. "He'll be fine. He always is."

The woman shook her head. "After everything he had been through," she said. "I doubt it. That monster did so much to him. He's strong, but he's not that strong. Nobody is."

"Hmm, Treville…?"

The broken plea shattered Constance's heart, and she couldn't help but pull her into an embrace, holding onto him as tightly as her strength would allow her to. She gently ran her hand through his unruly hair, in this friendly, loving way.

"Did you call a physician?" she asked, never taking her eyes off of Aramis.

Athos nodded, saying, "D'Artagnan is fetching him."

"Treville...?!"

"He's not here, Aramis," Porthos said sadly. "He's … gone."

As the memory came back to him, tears forming in his eyes. "Treville's dead." he stated. "He's dead. They all are." And then they started falling. "This is all my fault. I didn't s-save them … in time."

"We need to get him somewhere safe," Athos said sadly. "Let's wait for the physician. He'll tell us what we need to do next."

"Agreed," Porthos replied. He took Aramis' shaking hand and squeezed it. "You're gonna be just fine, my friend. Everything will be alright. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2: Must Save Them

**New chapter! It gets pretty angsty, so enjoy!**

 **-M**

* * *

As Aramis woke up, the sounds of men screaming filled his ears. His eyes snapped open, and almost instantly, a coughing fit took ahold of him.

"Easy there, 'Mis," a familiar, gentle voice said. "You're alright."

"Those men," Aramis muttered. "They're … dead?"

Looking around, he saw that he was surrounded by beds with soldiers on them, all of them coughing and moaning. On his right, Constance was laying on another bed, asleep. D'Artagnan was sitting on a chair next to her, his wife's hands in his own.

"Not many of them survived," he heard Porthos replied. "You, Constance, and a few others were the lucky ones."

"A-Aramis?"

The marksman's eyes fell back on Constance who was just beginning to wake up. Without thinking, he stood up and limped to her bed, not paying attention to Porthos yelling at him to continue resting.

"I'm here, Constance," he said softly, trying hard not to pay attention to his wounds. "I'm alright."

"He most certainly isn't," Porthos said, rather angrily. "The physician told us that you received a third degree burn from a large piece of wood that fell on you while you were in there. If it gets infected, you could die. You have to rest, Aramis. We cannot lose you."

"As one of the only medics in here, I must do something to help," replied Aramis. "I will take it as easy as I can, but no promises. I will not have the deaths of all these poor men at my hands. I already blame myself for not being able to save all of them."

He and Porthos fell silent, their gazes locked. Aramis saw this anger in the bigger man's eyes, and he really couldn't understand why it was there in the first place.

But soon enough, Porthos' gaze softened and tears began to form in his eyes instead. Suddenly, he pulled Aramis to him, wrapping one arm around his waist and placing the other on his head.

"I just don't wanna lose you, Aramis," he said quietly. "I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me, Porthos," said Aramis. "I promise you. I said the same thing to you last night and I'm right here. I will be just fine."

When the two of them pulled away, Aramis left to go find the medical supplies he might need.

He visited every man in each bead for the rest of the day. He performs minor surgeries, and even helped the physician do some of the harder ones, despite the man's wishes.

But even with all of his hard work, two of these poor, young soldiers died, unable to handle the burns they received, or the remaining fire in their lungs.

When the second one stopped breathing, Aramis' eyes widened, and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I couldn't save you."

"You did everything you could," said Constance, who had been helping him with his patient. "There was nothing more you could have done." Knowing that he needed it, she pulled Aramis into a gentle hug, sighing when he returned it. "You are doing way more than your body can handle, Aramis," she said after a couple minutes, when she felt Aramis begin to tremble with fatigue. "How about you rest for an hour? The physician will be fine without your help."

Aramis shook his head as he pulled back from her. "I have to help whoever I can," he replied, his voice tired. "I have to-"

He was cut off when a scream erupted.

Aramis immediately dashed to the patient, despite his wound, and began treating the cadet that had gotten burned. As Constance listened to what was going on, she found out that the boy still had shrapnel in his body.

So the marksman was forced to take out the shrapnel. He tried hard not to pay attention to the boy's screams as he took each individual piece of shrapnel out. When he was finally finished, he took the cadet's hand and squeezed it. "You did good," he said. "You did good."

"T-thank y-you, S-s-Sir," was the broken reply.

This went on for the entire day.

Aramis constantly busied himself in trying to help another, but didn't even pay attention to himself. It was only when he almost collapse did he realize that something was wrong.

"You have a fever, Aramis," said Athos as he felt his friend's sweat dampened skin. "And a nasty one at that. You need to get some rest. Maybe you can avoid the worst of it."

"I have to take care of them," Aramis said, pointing at all the beds. At this point, it was almost like an obsession to him.

"Well you won't be able to take care of them if you're dead," said Porthos. "Please, Aramis, you need to slow down. You still have an injury of your own."

After thinking about it for a second, Aramis finally nodded. "Alright," he said tiredly. "I'll get some sleep. It's nighttime anyway."

XxXxX

But that night, Aramis' fever got even worse, thanks to his burn. When the physician took a look at it, he realized that it had gotten infected.

"You will need to use this salve on the burn," he had explained to the others. "It will sting a little bit, but the most important thing is to get the infection out as quickly as possible. Do this every two hours or so."

"We will," Athos had replied.

They still didn't expect the nightmares that this fever was giving Aramis. When the first one came, it all too difficult to watch.

Constance and Porthos always sat beside him, ready to calm him down if need be.

D'Artagnan and Athos, on the other hand, had sent a letter to Her Majesty, explaining the situation. They told her that it wouldn't safe to come and visit Aramis, but promised that they would inform her of any changes.

As they came back into their 'infirmary,' they saw Constance and Porthos trying help Aramis fight through one of his viscous nightmares.

One thing that his friends all knew about Aramis, was that his nightmares were probably the worst ones out of all of them. They all blamed the Savoy Massacre for this burden.

"It's alright," Constance was saying as the two other men appeared. "Aramis, you're safe. Oh, please, wake up…?"

Porthos stood up and shook his head. "He thinks he's back in the fire," he explained. "He thinks that he can still save the men."

Suddenly, Aramis cried out, curling into himself. Sweat was steadily dripping down his face and body, seeping into his covers. His hair was completely soaked with it, covering his eyes. He was breathing heavily, his face full of pain.

Athos sighed. "This is going to be a long night."


	3. Chapter 3: Faults

**Wow, it took me way too long to post another chapter. I am truly so sorry, but I have had one of the worst weeks this year and just couldn't bring myself to work.**

 **I still hope you enjoy this chapter. I will probably end this fic in the next chapter or so. I have a new idea for another story that will probably help me let all my negative energies out, so I can't wait to start working on that.**

 **In the meantime, please make sure to read and review, and I will see you in the next chapter.**

 **-M**

* * *

Porthos watched his sleeping friend, unable to rid himself of that awful feeling in his heart.

His eyes traveled up and down Aramis' body, noting all the injuries he had sustained because of Grimaud.

The marksman's shoulders were still bruised, and so was his waist, although Porthos could barely see it because of all the bandages.

Aramis' face was strained and tired. It was like he hadn't slept in days. Knowing him, Porthos was sure that it was true. He probably stayed up all night thinking about Grimaud, and all that he had done to him and his friends.

But what hurt Porthos the most was the fact that only now was he noticing this.

It seemed as if all this time, Aramis purposely hid behind fake happiness. It was as if he was too afraid to show any weakness, even to his friends.

Even while he was Grimaud's prisoner, he kept a calm demeanor throughout his entire capture, and was even willing to die just to rid the Earth of this monster.

I wanted peace, Porthos remembered him saying.

All he had wanted was to try and make the world a more peaceful place. It wasn't for himself, and it wasn't for just the Queen … it was for everybody.

He suffered so much just because he wanted peace for a change.

He was always a peaceful human being, always preaching equality, and never wanting to start fights. Porthos admired him for it, because it was a characteristic that not many people have, and especially not Musketeers.

Nobody - not Porthos, Athos, Her Majesty, or even Aramis himself - could have known that all of this would come with a price.

And that price was to suffer.

In a way, Porthos felt guilty for not being able to protect his best friend from all this. Now, he was afraid - terrified, even - that Aramis would not be the same after all of this. He prayed that this man, who was so full of joy, and love, and peace, would not wither before his eyes, and become this trapped, sad, and hurt soul that no one would be able to save.

He prayed to God, that he would spare Aramis, because everyone knew that he did not deserve this kind of suffering … this kind of pain.

XxXxX

He stood in the flames, staring at the burning bodies around him with wide eyes. 'Why can't I save them?' he kept thinking. It seemed that he was literally stuck in place. All he could do is turn around to watch these horrors unfold before him.

Many of them were screaming, begging, for him to save them. They called his name, their voices cracking each time.

None of these men were ready to die. Aramis knew it was his fault for not being able to save them.

Suddenly, he heard laugher. Familiar laughter.

He whipped around, his eyes growing even wider. It was Grimaud.

"Aren't you going to save them?" he taunted.

"You bastard!" Aramis cried, feeling tears falling down his face. "Why would you kill so many innocent men?! They did nothing to you!"

"Oh, but you did," that monster replied. "And Athos, and Porthos, and d'Artagnan … they all ruined everything. So I need my revenge."

Suddenly, Grimaud charged at him, and then the next thing he knew, pain erupted in his chest. He gasped, his eyes traveling to Grimaud; they were wide with fear.

"Now, off to the others," he said. "I hope you know that you are the reason they will not live to see another day." He pulled his knife out of Aramis' body, grinning as he watched the Musketeer collapse. "It was fun while it lasted," he added quietly. "Maybe I will go for your lover next."

XxXxX

"Constance, get some wet cloths!" Athos yelled, rushing to his struggling friend. "He's having another one!" He took the other man's hand and said, "Come on, Aramis, snap out of it … Porthos! Where's the water?!"

"NO!"

Aramis suddenly jolted awake, shooting upright. He gasped, and Athos could almost feel his pain. He watched sadly as his poor brother collapsed back into his bed, curling into himself and beginning to shiver.

"Athos…?" he whispered brokenly.

"Yes, Aramis, it's me," the swordsman replied. "You're alright. You're safe. That burns of yours is giving you a fever. You need more rest."

Aramis shook his head, and began to get up. 'I have … t-to save those m-men," he said, his voice trembling. He jerked when Athos placed a hand on his arm. When he turned around, all Athos saw was fear and guilt.

"If you overwork yourself, you will get worse, Aramis," Athos said. "Please, just get some more rest first."

Once again, Aramis shook his head. "I can't," he repeated. "I have to save them."

He managed to get out of Athos' grasp, and then began walking away … when he felt, yet, someone else touching him. The touch was gentle and familiar, and when he looked back, he just about broke down.

Porthos was standing in front of him, a look of understanding in his expression. "Please, Aramis," he said softly. "Get some more rest."

After a moment of silence, Aramis sighed. "I'm sorry, Porthos," he said. "But I have to." He walked towards one of the men in the beds, and began trying to help.

On that same day, he lost another cadet while trying to save him. He had not meant for it to happen, but when it did, all his energy left him, leaving behind a tired and hurt Aramis.

The poor man took a couple of steps back until he hit a wall. He stared at the, now, dead body with guilt in his eyes. Why couldn't he do anything right today?

"Aramis, it's not your fault," someone said.

Once again, that someone was Constance. She slowly walked over to her friend and took his hand.

"You can't save everyone," she said gently. Her voice carried sadness, as well as her eyes.

It hurt her to see Aramis so exhausted, so pained. It was like his tortured soul was slowly leaving him.

"I should have tried harder, Constance," whispered Aramis, keeping his head down. His eyes suddenly turned cold. He looked up at Constance, and he basically aged ten more years right in front of her eyes. "This is Grimaud's doing," he said, his voice emotionless. "This is his fault. I will kill him for it. I swear, I will, if it's the last thing I do."


	4. Chapter 4: It’s Done

**The last chapter!!!! Ooooh ... Ahhhhh!!!!! I hope you guys have enjoyed this small little story. Thank you to all who favorited, followed, reviewed. You mean the world to me!**

 **I'll see you guys in the next story!**

 **-M**

* * *

An exhausted Aramis walked by the Queen and Dauphin's side, his senses on high alert. He, and his brothers, knew that Grimaud was here. They were sure of it. And they all knew that Aramis would get the kill.

 _"Grimaud is mine," Aramis Gad said at their briefing. "I need to kill him."_

 _"Aramis," d'Artagnan began. "You're still injured. I don't think it would be wise to-"_

 _"He. Is. Mine." Aramis' voice was harsh and cold, different from his normal, happy, loving tone._

 _The others had no other choice than to agree._

Now they were all, either, watching out for any threats to the Queen, or staring at Aramis. It was a miracle that the man was still on his feet.

Even Anne noticed! She knew that something was off. But because they were in a public area, she couldn't say anything to him.

But then the next thing she knew, Porthos was by beside her, and he was telling her that Grimaud was there, and that they needed to get out of here.

A couple of minutes later, she saw Aramis and Athos run into the building. Worry seeped into her heart. She knew that her lover was not ready to fight. The only thing he was fighting was his own demons. How he would be able to fight Grimaud, she did not know.

XxXxX

After making sure that all the gunpowder Grimaud had placed wasn't going to explode, Aramis and Athos began searching for this monster of a human being.

It seemed as if Aramis changed within a few minutes, because, now, his body was battle ready, and his senses were on even higher alert.

"Aramis, you should think this through," Athos tried to tell him. "You're hurt, more than you think. You might not make it out of this. And if you die, what will happen to us? What will happen to the Queen? And what will happen to your son? He truly will never have a father."

The marksman whipped around and glared at Athos. "Don't you dare bring up my son," he snarled. "Whatever happens, happens. All that matters is that Grimaud will be dead."

They continued to search for their target, trying to find their way through this maze.

Athos thought that they would never find him, that Grimaud was long gone, but he was proven wrong when Grimaud found them.

The next thing he knew, he was flying into a wall. Quickly standing back up, he saw Aramis lunging at the man, fury in his eyes.

He was successful in slicing Grimaud's arm with his rapier, and when he pulled back, he growled. "That is for what you did to Constance," he said.

Grimaud just smiled. He suddenly pushed Aramis to the side and took off.

Athos watched as Aramis ran after him, and he put his head down. He silently prayed for Aramis. He prayed that his best friend would come out of this alive.

In the meantime, Aramis was frantically pursuing Grimaud. He finally reached his goal when the other man jumped at him. Thankfully, the marksman was able to block the attack - at least a little. His enemy's sword managed to cut through his cheek.

"That is for my arm." Grimaud smirked, picking his slightly injured arm up.

Aramis pushed the other man away, taking out his dagger as well. He instantly forgot about all his injuries as the two of them fought. The only thing on his mind was to kill Grimaud.

He barely even noticed that the two of them were now fighting in water until Grimaud had his hands on his neck and was pushing him under. As the soldier struggled to come for air, he pictured all his friends in his mind. He finally realized that he might never see them again … and that is what made him want to fight even harder.

He pushed back up, and with his sword, he pushed it through Grimaud's stomach. At the same time, the other man had pushed his own weapon through Aramis' stomach as well.

The two of them stared at each other with wide eyes for a mere second, and Aramis quickly took that as his chance to finally strike.

He grabbed at Grimaud and pushed him under the water. He watched as blood flowed around them, he stared at the air bubbles forming from under the man.

And just as his arms began to grow weak, Grimaud finally stopped struggling.

Aramis quickly let go, gasping. He stood up and slowly walked over to the ledge of this underground pond. He slid against the wall, wrapped his hand around his waist, and began to cry.

After days of not feeling anything but this need for vengeance, his body was finally allowing him to feel the heartbreak he had suffered.

"This is for everything you have done to me, my friends, and those poor, innocent men who didn't deserve to die," he whispered, the tears streaming down his face. "I hope you rot in Hell, you bastard."

When Athos found him a couple minutes later, relief swept over him. He noticed Grimaud's body floating in the water, unmoving.

And then he saw Aramis. The poor man was sobbing.

The swordsman quickly kneeled down beside his friend and took Aramis' hand. "You did it, mon ami," he said softly. "It's done."

Aramis shook his head. "I have never had such a lust for killing before, Athos," he said. "Because of what I have just become, I do not know if it is Grimaud who is the monster, or myself." He looked up, tears in his eyes. "I am sorry."

Without hesitating, Athos gathered Aramis into his arms and began to rock him gently. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said, taking Aramis' hand. "I would have been exactly like you. I promise you, you did the right thing."

XxXxX

Once Aramis managed to calm down, the two of them made their way out of the tombs.

The marksman gasped when the sun's light hit his eyes, and he raised his hand up to block it.

He was immediately embraced by his other two brothers, and, out of sheer exhaustion, he practically fell against the two of them.

Porthos quickly caught him and held him close, noticing the new source of blood on his stomach. "He needs a medic," he said.

"You four get back to the infirmary," Queen Anne said. "Make sure that he is well taken care of, and please keep me informed. I will handle it here."

Aramis bowed his head slightly. "Thank you … Anne," he said. "Gracias, mi amor." With that, his body gave out on him and he blacked out.

Anne smiled weakly, sadness in her eyes.

In about an hour, Aramis was back at their makeshift - garrison, and the physician had arrived.

After checking up on him and giving his friends all the medicine and instructions they needed, he left. Now it was up to the three Musketeers to help him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just staring at their unconscious friend.

"You think he's gonna be alright?" Porthos finally asked.

Athos nodded. "He's Aramis, Porthos," he said. "He's survived through so much more."

"But all those other times, he's been alone," said d'Artagnan. "Now, he had us."

Porthos smirked. "You're right," he said. "You're definitely right.


End file.
